Her Story
by TheQuirkyFedora
Summary: When Hadley Duncan, who never knew anything about her parents or family, winds up at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry after leaving her orphanage, she discovers not only a place where she finally may belong, but also that her hidden past is much more connected to this magical world than she ever would have dreamt.


**Author's note: At this part of the story, Hadley is thirteen years old and has lived in Duncan's Orphanage in London her whole life. That's why her last name is Duncan, also.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing, JK Rowling owns everything. I came up with the character Hadley, but I don't even think that means I own even her.**

On the morning of July 31st, I awoke to the sound of a cast iron skillet banging against the wooden table that had served as my pillow the night before.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" said Sister Catherine in a menacing tone. "How many times have I told you about falling asleep while you're working?" The skillet slammed onto the table again, this time so closely that for a second it trapped my hair as I sprung away.

"I should be asking you the same question!" I slurred back, barely awake and forgetting who exactly was holding the heavy metal object.

The Sister's eyes turned a steely grey. Determination that could only mean one thing transforming her features from that of a docile nun into the creature inside with which I was all too well-acquainted. For a nun, she moved with surprising speed as she once again lifted the skillet in the air and then swung it down in a flash, crushing my hand as it rested on the table.

Pain engulfed me, slowly spreading up my arm with every throbbing pulse of blood. The world looked as though I were wearing red tinted spectacles and an animalistic sound between a screech and a roar filled my ears. I looked to Sister Catherine, expecting to meet the nun's beady eyes. Instead, those eyes were looking at her own hand, which seemed as though it were glued to the skillet, rising up, up as far as her arm could reach until it swiftly crashed down onto the nun's head.

And all I could think was, _I need to leave here now_.

I didn't stop for anything; not to check Sister Catherine's pulse, not to gather the few items I called my own, and definitely not to say goodbye. I didn't know much in this world, but I knew how to run.

I knew I caused the skillet to drop onto her head. I didn't know why or how-no one did really-but ever since I was little, strange things have happened in the orphanage and only ever when I am in the room. Like when my teacher was about to smack me, but every time her hand came an inch closer to me, her whole body moved one inch away. Or when we finally got a Christmas tree one year because a donor complained about the lack of holiday decorations; they brought in a droopy Christmas tree that was barely my height at only seven years old and had us each put one ornament on it. When I went up to place my glass orb, the entire tree grew three sizes in front of all our eyes. Eventually, the nuns and other girls caught on that whenever I was upset or unhappy, or anything really, something would happen that shouldn't have and the few girls that would talk to me before were too scared even to come near me.

For years I tried to explain to them all that I wasn't doing it, that I couldn't be making those things happen. But every time something _did_ happen, the whispers would start again, and the pointing as well. The nuns banished me to work with the cleaning staff: scrubbing toilets and cleaning dishes. I couldn't sleep in the same room as the other girls—though they gave me the pantry, which was rather large, and I had it all to myself, so I really didn't mind—and I couldn't go to school the same as them either. I began to realize that I really was strange, but I didn't want to be. I was always tense, trying to keep whatever was inside me contained.

As I grew older, though, especially passed age eleven, it began to worsen. A day could barely pass when I wouldn't have an incident, and they became more and more obvious as time went on. I always feared something really bad would happen because of me, like what happened to Sister Catherine, and I always thought it would be the death of me when it did. Little did I know, it would be my rebirth.

**Yet another Disclaimer: I own nothing. JK Rowling owns everything.**

**I hope you enjoyed this! I have really big plans for this story-and don't worry, she enters the magical world soon enough.**


End file.
